Part of the Public Character
by aeternium
Summary: Fourteen year-old Dora Tonks recounts the tale of how she met an old friend in the most unexpected of places.


I'd just noticed that the sun was about to come up when one of the Healers came back in and told me they'd got all they needed, I can leave now, thanks very much. It was the spotty bloke, the one who'd been smiling all night, probably in as much pain as I was that we had to be stuck in some sterile room at such an ungodly hour. Well, at least he's not the one who was dragged in there entirely against his will. He gets paid for it, doesn't he?

I did noticed it _wasn't_ the woman, the one with curly blonde hair who'd been staring at me like an insect all night and plain ignored Da's hand when he held it out to shake. I know exactly how it must have gone down in the hallway outside:

Spotty: "That's us set, then. Go let her know she can leave."

Curly: "Me? Talk to that half-blood morphing heathen? I should think not! I wash my hands of this whole business."

Spotty: "I really don't get paid enough to work with you."

Yes, that's exactly what happened.

So the half-blood morphing heathen can leave, finally, after several hours worth of poking and prodding and asking her to turn her hair magenta if you please, turn her hand warty if you wouldn't mind – (all in the name of research, Spotty explained pleasantly, but really it's to make sure they can track me down in case I suddenly take a fancy to bank robbery).

There was a small problem, though, and that was that Da hadn't come back yet. Well, chances are he hadn't entirely been expecting them to turn me, a poor, innocent fourteen year-old, out onto the streets of London at 5:30 in the morning. He'd said he'd be back by 7:00, and that had seemed perfectly reasonable to the both him and me. Silly us.

And then I had a stroke of brilliance. See, I'd begged and begged and agreed to forego my pocket money for the year to help pay, so we'd just had our fireplace connected to the Floo Network. It had only happened the month before, you see, which is why it took me a moment to remember about it at all.

So I said to myself, "Self, this is what you're going to do. You're going to take the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron to see if Da's just being a lazy sod waiting over there, and if he's not, you're going to take the Floo straight home."

And that's just what I did.

Only I didn't end up at the Leaky Cauldron.

It actually took me a moment to realize where I'd ended up, because really, would you take a look at a great, horrible cement room full of cages and think, "Oh, blast, I'm still in St. Mungo's!"?

I thought not.

But it really was something horrible, that huge room and the walls lined with great cages, and the absolute worst part was that there were _people_ in them. Actual _people._ I thought for a moment I might have uncovered some sort of illegal plot like in a Morgana Margenta novel, but then I noticed that there was a plaque near the door with a room number _exactly_ like the one in the room I'd spent all night in so that's when I realized I was still in the hospital.

I probably should have left then but you know those moments in life when something's just so horrible and dark and utterly fascinating that you really have no choice, you have to stay? It was one of those.

They were naked. That's the first thing I noticed, because really, how's that something that isn't the first thing you notice? They were naked, and shivering – (because it _was_ bloody cold in there) – and still asleep mostly. A couple of them were covered in blood and what looked like long, deep scratches and a few bites. That was probably what ticked me off to what was really up.

"Oh," I said, though I really sort of mouthed it.

Werewolves.

Right, then.

That was _really_ when I should have left, because they were obviously there for the same reason I was, and I knew I would have been right pissed with anyone that came to ogle at me after the night I'd had. Which, I had to remind myself, was probably nothing in comparison to what these chaps had just been through. At least I'd gotten through it without bodily harm.

To be fair, I _was_ about to leave when I spotted him, and you know me, I never know when to shut up, so of course:

"Mr. Lupin?"

He looked up, and it actually _was _him, and that was probably more shocking than anything. Well. Mum and Da's old friend, a werewolf. Who'd have thought?

"Dora? I – what are you doing here?"

"Tests," I said, pointing at my now-ginger hair.

"No, I mean _here_ here."

"Oh right," I said very, very quickly. "Um, well, see, I – I'm not very good with the Floo, it seems. Da was going to pick me up but they let me out quite early and I was going to try to get home on my own, but you know we only just got connected and all so I only got here by accident."

"Oh. That's… I'm sorry to hear that, Dora, but would you mind giving me a hand here?"

"_Oh_."

Mr. Lupin did look horribly uncomfortable, and that's when I noticed that his clothes and wand and things were piled next to the corner of the cage. The least I could do was unlock it for him, and there I'd been, jabbering away because _I'd_ been uncomfortable. What a terrible prat I was being.

I'm a bit embarrassed by what happened next, but he's a grown man and I'm a mature young lady so I'm sure we'll both rise above it. Besides, do you really think you can expose yourself like that to a tender young female and _not_ be stared at? Really.

With clothes fully on and a crisis averted, Mr. Lupin took me by the shoulder and led me back out the way I'd come.

"Come on," he said, "I'll take you home."

"You're all set to go?"

"Yes, they'll send someone in to get everyone else in a few, but after full moon the show's over, you know?" He grinned at that, but it wasn't really all that funny. I don't think he really thought it was, either.

We didn't say another word until we'd left the room, walked up several staircases, emerged in the lobby, and ended up on the street outside. I hadn't seen much of Mr. Lupin in the past few years – not since Da switched to the kind of Advocate that doesn't really make money and I'd had to stop my drawing lessons. Mr. Lupin had offered to come round anyway when he could to draw with me, but that had stopped after awhile, too.

I _had_ missed him. He'd been a good friend to me when I was kid, coming round all the time with Mum's cousin Sirius before all that horrible business. I'd known, though, when he started coming round even afterwards, that he was someone to trust. Sort of like an older brother, though that was silly, because Mum and Da had always insisted I call him Mr. Lupin because it was 'the polite thing to do.'

"Dora," he said finally, after looking uncomfortable for a bit.

"Yes?"

"You don't… I mean, do you mind at all?"

"Mind that you didn't tell me? Well, I am the tiniest bit surprised, but I'm sure you had your reasons. Also, do you mind if I call you Remus now, because somehow 'Mr. Lupin' doesn't really roll off the tongue as easily as it does when you're eight."

He stared at me a moment, his mouth open, then let out a sharp laugh that surprised even me. Then he put his arm around my shoulder and said of course I could call him Remus, and that was that, I suppose.

So there we were, walking with our arms around each other down the street in the early morning light like they do in the MM novels, because apparently it's my lot in life to almost be Morgana but never quite get there. I was enjoying myself all the same, though, because Remus is a good sort, really, and I do like spending time with him. And I'm not daft, I know what he meant, but who even gives a sodding toad's foot if he's a werewolf? Probably the people like Curly Blonde Healer, the same people who wouldn't give me the time of day because of Da's parents or my morphing.

And you know what? Those really aren't the sort of people I'd waste my time on anyway.


End file.
